


his lips taste like wine

by ephlyon



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Melancholy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 05:09:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13287672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephlyon/pseuds/ephlyon
Summary: And Lyon knows that Ephraim’s answer will never change. That he’ll keep blaming himself for his own mistakes, as if Lyon hadn’t made any himself. Perhaps it is a result of the shock; the result of betrayal. Lyon can still taste poison, even now. He tastes it when he kisses Ephraim, he tastes it when they laugh together. That underlying bitterness… does Ephraim taste it, too?





	his lips taste like wine

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent. What Ephraim and Lyon could have been if Lyon lived. Maybe I'll work on a multi-chapter fic for these two in the future. For now, I just have this.

His lips taste like wine.

Ephraim had once entertained the fantasy of kissing Lyon like this whilst sitting opposite him at the dining hall. The meek and quiet prince, who raised a glass of wine to his lips, had given Ephraim the sweetest and genuine smile he’d ever seen, his lips stained a beautiful deep red. They, in that moment, looked so kissable, and the thought had surprised Ephraim, because he hadn’t felt that way around anyone else.

He smiles back on the memory now, whilst his fingers are entangled in the other prince’s hair, peppering light kisses along his cheek and across his jawline. He feels Lyon’s breath; his warmth as he holds him so close. Ephraim says: “This feels like Déjà vu.”

“Hmm?” He hears Lyon mumble, eyes half-lidded, and, Gods, that sight has Ephraim’s mind reeling.

“Déjà vu,” he repeats, sliding a finger in place of his lips under Lyon’s chin so that they make eye contact, “like I’ve done this before.”

“And have you?” Lyon asks genuinely, his eyes widening in curiosity as well as perplexity. Ephraim can see the slight eagerness; the anxiousness. Another small kiss, and the corners of Lyon’s lips upturn once again.

“No,” Ephraim answers. “It was a thought. Our first dinner…”

“Oh, I remember,” Lyon says. “When I first came to meet you and dear Eirika for the first time. I was…”

“Incredibly shy,” Ephraim says. “You hardly spoke a word. But your smile…”

“My smile?”

“I haven’t forgotten it since.”

At that, Lyon blinks, taking a moment to process before his smile turns adoring, a hand reaching to lay upon Ephraim’s cheek, creating shadows in the candlelight. “You’ve always had a way with words.”

“You think?” Ephraim grins. “That’s a first.”

“Perhaps… it is my goal to claim all your firsts,” Lyon says. It takes a moment before he realizes the weight of what he’s just said, eyes widening before turning and looking away, a bit too quickly to make it less obvious. A claim to take his firsts in everything---how bold of him to say. But he’s thought it for a long time now. When first seeing Ephraim and Eirika, Lyon had been confused. Affection and love were fresh, and he didn’t know which twin he loved. Even now, he knows he loves both, but it was finding out that there’s two kinds, that had become his greatest challenge. He hears a low chuckle, and when he looks back, Ephraim’s face so close to his that their noses touch.

“That’s very… sweet of you to say, Lyon,” Ephraim says. He takes Lyon’s hand and holds it for a moment. He then brings it to his lips, and kisses it, and Lyon stares, mesmerized.

It makes Lyon’s heart flutter to please Ephraim. To know that Ephraim’s smile is something he made. To know that it is for him, and him alone. This time, Lyon takes the first move in pressing his lips against Ephraim’s, relishing in how soft and right they feel, a hand reaching gently into Ephraim’s hair. It feels soft.

He hadn’t been this bold before. Lyon, too, had his fleeting thoughts about Ephraim, which started the confusion. Seeing him spar with his army; noticing details and fixating on them. On the way his chest rises and falls, on the way he’ll push his hair back with his hand, giving his crooked smile.

Charming, Lyon first thought. His is so very charming.

And at first, it _hurt_ Lyon.

It hurt to see him. To hear him laugh with others. He envied that he couldn’t be like him, nor with him. To see something so beautiful from the side-lines and want that yourself. For yourself. It hurt so much.

He isn’t even sure Ephraim understands this now.

Lyon lets his fingers fall and curl under Ephraim’s chin, before resting on his chest. Even now, it hurts him to think on how he was and what he’d done. Back then, the voices had been so rampant; so demanding. They’d fed to his jealousy, and sang to him lies. It’d been so convincing back then. It makes him sick to his stomach now, to think that he’d seen Ephraim as some enemy.

Ephraim notices the shift in mood, and frowns. “Lyon?”

“Did you…” Lyon says. “Did you… ever think ill of me, Ephraim? When I had told you things… did you ever hate me for it?”

This isn’t the first time Lyon has asked this. Ephraim thinks of him as a broken record, because when he asks, it’s an exact repeat. Same worn tone and same sombre eyes. He asks as if he doesn’t know the answer, despite Ephraim having reassured him many times before. He wonders now if this is a result of his accident. The fact that Lyon’s body had been claimed and used, beaten and worn, to the point where his heart had stopped beating. Ephraim wonders if this is the result.

He doesn’t tell Lyon what he thinks. Ephraim shifts, his arm still draped around Lyon’s shoulders, Lyon still sitting on his lap. He pauses, and thinks, finding some spot somewhere to rest his gaze.

He thinks about how he held Lyon, that day on the battlefield. Lyon’s words a sombre hymn in his head, the remnants of Fomortiis still laughing at him in the gusts of wind. He remembers Lyon’s tired eyes, wanting to rest right then and there. And Ephraim refused to let him rest. He wanted him to keep fighting, until his breaths were his own.

He looks back at Lyon now, pinpointing the differences. His skin is coloured, cheeks looking more flushed than he’s ever seen. His lips are plumper, his eyes have a light to them. There’s life in this Lyon, and he wants it to stay that way.

“I never hated you,” Ephraim says finally. “I never thought ill of you, Lyon. I was sad. Depressed. I felt that suddenly, my life hadn’t any meaning. That I’d failed you.”

Lyon’s right. Ephraim _is_ self-sacrificing.

Even now, after all he had done to him, Ephraim is blaming himself. It’s a different kind of suffering, to not have Ephraim mad at him.

Because that’s the unfortunate truth of it all.

And Lyon knows that Ephraim’s answer will never change. That he’ll keep blaming himself for his own mistakes, as if Lyon hadn’t made any himself. Perhaps it is a result of the shock; the result of betrayal. Lyon can still taste poison, even now. He tastes it when he kisses Ephraim, he tastes it when they laugh together. That underlying bitterness… does Ephraim taste it, too?

“You accepting me,” Lyon says finally, “is the greatest gift of all.”

His fingers rest over Ephraim’s. He smooths his thumb, as if smoothing the pain. A blanket to cover what horrors still lay beneath their soft kisses and whispered words. Is Fomortiis still laughing?

Lyon takes his turn to cup both of Ephraim’s cheeks, gently turning so that they meet eye-to-eye. This kiss is desperate.

“Your heart is too big, too full,” Lyon whispers against his lips. “Dare I say, I feel like a thief to have you like this. Taking something that isn’t mine. I can live with this guilt.”

He feels Ephraim’s lips move. He witnesses a smile.

“I wouldn’t want anything else, Lyon. Nothing else.”


End file.
